


my pictures seem to cast a spell

by dissembler



Category: Lilywhite Boys Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissembler/pseuds/dissembler
Summary: ‘I’d like to commission a portrait,’ Jerry says, and Alec frowns until Jerry tacks on: ‘Lord Alexander.’
Relationships: Jerry Crozier/Alexander "Alec" Pyne-ffoulkes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	my pictures seem to cast a spell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Blue Escapist (TheBlueEscapist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueEscapist/gifts).



He feels cosy, sated, loose-limbed and well-fucked, sitting where they’d found themselves ending up: on the floor at the foot of the bed, leaning against it.

Eyes closed, he hears rather than sees Jerry move around him in the bedroom, capable again, in what can’t be more than five minutes, of standing, and walking, and all those things that at this moment feel utterly beyond Alec. His eyes fly open when something drops with a thunk onto the floor before him. 

It’s one of his sketchbooks, and it’s followed by a pencil, this time dropped gently onto it so as not to break the lead. Alec looks up in askance as Jerry stands over him, his eyes still dark and wide. A jolt of something runs up his spine, sets his skin tingling. ‘Jerry?’

‘I’d like to commission a portrait,’ Jerry says, and Alec frowns until Jerry tacks on: ‘ _Lord Alexander_.’

Alec sucks in a shaky breath. ‘Of yourself?’ 

Jerry shakes his head no, moving away to pick something up from behind a table. He’s still as naked as Alec but he moves as though he were fully dressed in a top and tails, without a shred of embarrassment. He comes back with a frame, whatever’s in it he keeps facing him until he’s placed it before Alec, against the wall. 

A mirror, large, intended to be placed on a wall but still small enough here so that only Alec fills the frame. He breathes in sharp, sees his own eyes widening with understanding. ‘Of me,’ he says.

‘Of you.’

‘Like this?’

‘Just like this. You’ll do it.’ It isn’t quite a question but Alec knows that this is his opportunity to say no, to break the scene; instead he slips into Lord Alexander’s skin and takes up the pencil. Alec hears Jerry’s almost imperceptible inhale before the man continues, ‘Just like this. Damp and wanton. Just for me.’

Alec understands now why Jerry’s first act, after pulling out and pressing an open, messy kiss against his – Alec’s not Alexander’s – shoulder, was to put more coal on the fire; without it he’d be uncomfortably cold by now but with it he’s still just as damp – glistening, by God, he’s _glistening_ – and warm as he was a moment ago, with Jerry still deep inside him. He can’t tear his eyes away from the mirror: Jerry’s right, he looks wanton, freshly used. The challenge is to keep himself looking this way for the time it will take to sketch. 

‘Well go on then, Lord Alexander. I’ll not pay you by the hour.’ Alec feels his cheeks burn at the implication, the thought of getting paid for this, for the acts before and the sketches after. He takes up the pad, rests it on his thigh, and gets to work. 

Jerry potters about for a time around and behind him but then the noise stops and the mattress against Alec’s shoulders shifts a bit. Jerry doesn’t encroach within the frame of the mirror, it’s too small for that, but Alec can feel his eyes on him. The blood starts to run to his groin again, regardless of how recently he’s spent and he’s glad that his first move was to sketch himself in outline, detail to be filled in later.

But even those details... 

‘You’ll have to relax your face, Lord Alexander,’ Jerry tells him, ‘or the sketch won’t catch the helpless expression I enjoy so much.’

Alec flushes and tries to relax again but when next he looks up from the page his lower lip is between his teeth and his face is a picture of concentration, the very opposite of what he needs it to be. What Jerry wants it to be.

‘Come on, Lord Alexander.’ Jerry’s voice is low and steady and Alec sees his own prick as it twitches against his leg. ‘Must I make you spend again for you to remember? Perhaps I ought to, perhaps you need to see your own face at the moment you spill all over yourself.”

Alec loses his grip on the pencil as he drops his head back against the mattress, catching out of the top of his vision Jerry’s smirking face. ‘Please,’ he whispers.

Jerry smiles and slides off the bed to sit at Alec’s side. When Alec turns to face him, he brings up a hand and grips the back of Alec’s neck, moving his gaze back to the mirror. His other hand brushes over his thigh, avoiding the sketch pad, and he rests his fingertips on Alec’s limp but filling cock. 

‘Pay attention, Lord Alexander,’ he says. ‘I’ll expect a perfect copy.’ 

And then his hand begins to move.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a Music Hall song called 'The Artist'.


End file.
